


Distraction

by Rehfan



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, James Bond - Ian Fleming
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Armpit Kink, Bathtub Sex, Biting, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Coldplay, Edgeplay - suggested, Face-Fucking, Feeding Kink, Food Kink, Frottage, Gooning, Hair-pulling, Hand Feeding, Hand Jobs, Ice Play, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M, Nipple Licking, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rimming, Sensory Deprivation, Shower Sex, Snowballing, Teabagging, Undressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-16 16:16:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1353745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rehfan/pseuds/Rehfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q is a rent boy and Bond is stuck in London and bored.</p><p>based on this photoset: http://rehfan.tumblr.com/post/80402709120/its-been-a-pleasure-mister-no-its-been</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Chinese translation: http://archiveofourown.org/works/8251283/chapters/18907187  
> MANY THANKS to yunmucho for all their hard work!

“Get yourself a distraction for tonight,” Alec had told him. But he wasn’t the one that had to find that distraction in London when he knew – _he knew!_ – that Stojovic was still out there and waiting. The murderous wretch was simply licking his wounds under a rock somewhere and just because Bond hadn’t brought home his bloody head on a platter, M had seen fit to pull him from the mission. It was stupid. M knew better than to give him time off when he was practically leaping at his lead to get back in the field.

Bond made his way through the London night, his feet guiding him wherever they would. He couldn’t stay cooped up at home. He couldn’t go out in the field. He had a mind to go back into Serbia sans orders, but M would be furious and probably throw him in a prison somewhere; or worse: he’d make his next assignment taking the Queen’s corgis for walkies ‘round Buckingham. He pulled up his collar against the chill of the evening, moving fluidly through the theater crowds that were emptying out into the streets, everyone cheery and chatting.

Those innocent smiling faces sickened him. If any of them knew the path of destruction that Stojovic wanted to create in London alone, everyone around him would be screaming, pissing themselves, and doing their level best to panic themselves to death. Not a one of those fuckers understood.

What was worse: he could feel the creep of that itch gaining on him with every step he took. That was what he had called it: _the itch_. It was a rankling; a feeling of helplessness; a need to be elsewhere; a primal urge to destroy, rent, rip apart. And once it took hold of him, only a good bottle of scotch and a pub fight would solve it - either that or some incredibly intense sex.

As he came along the street, his mind abuzz with his needs and how to meet them, he managed to walk right into a slightly-built man coming the other way. “Whoa,” he said, cigarette dangling from red lips. Bond pushed past him. “What? No “Sorry”?” One more step away and the cigarette was out of his mouth, voice angry. “Are you looking for something, fucker? You want to start?”

Bond stopped. He looked back. Black denim trousers slung low on the hip, held up by a thick black studded belt, black leather jacket, white shirt: at best he was a mop-haired cheesy club-goer who had a bit too much to drink. At worst, he was a skinny drug dealer with a weapon in his back pocket. Either way, Bond wasn’t impressed. He turned again to go only stopping when he heard: “Fine. Don’t apologize. Go on. Run home to mommy.”

Someone had to smash his face in. Better it be someone skilled in the art rather than some yobbo out with his mates. Bond turned and crooked a finger at him. He thumbed at the nearest alley way and entered it ahead of the stranger. If he followed him, he’d be a bigger fool than Bond estimated.

He followed. But his demeanor was vastly different than what Bond had expected. He was cautious, but not scared; a clever boy then. “You wanted to apologize to me?”

Bond laughed. “You must be joking.”

“What?” said the stranger. He stepped into the light of a nearby streetlamp. “Something wrong with expecting an apology from a stranger who smashes into you on the concrete?”

Bond peered at him; entirely too skinny; and entirely too young. What was this lad up to? “You still have spots.”

“Fuck off,” said the boy.

“What in hell do you think you’re playing at anyway?” Bond asked. He steeled himself for having to shove this boy up against the brick wall behind him, but the moment never came.

“Got the feeling that you wanted to… you know: talk,” replied the stranger. He licked his lips and took a drag off his cigarette. “That not what you wanted?”

Bond narrowed his eyes. This boy was no threat. He wasn’t even drunk. And yet, here he was calmly smoking in an alley lit by a single dim bulb and expecting an apology from someone who was almost twice his size in girth. “Talking…” Bond mused. “Yeah alright. Let’s talk.”

“Cost you a fiver,” said the stranger.

_Wha—Oh of course. Rent boy._

Bond revaluated the man before him. “Only that?”

“Depends on the conversation,” said the man, “how “in depth” it gets, right?”

“I see,” said Bond. “And how much will it cost for your most stimulating philosophical conversational techniques?”

The man smiled. “That kind of talk could take clean until the morning. One hundred.”

“Bollocks.”

“Fine,” said the man and he put out his cigarette and walked off. Bond stopped him with an outstretched hand.

“I meant that you’re selling your conversation off too cheaply,” he said. The man looked at him curious, black pupils rimmed with creamy jade. “I’ll give you a thousand.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference:
> 
> The Terrace Suite at the Dorchester:   
> http://www.dorchestercollection.com/modules/hotels/HotelRoomsandSuitesDetails.aspx?treeid=69&rid=16

“Where?” he asked.

Bond’s heartbeat picked up. “My place- no, a hotel. Give me an hour and meet me at the Dorchester. Use the concierge house phone. Ask for Gareth Mallory’s room,” said Bond.

The man gave him an incredulous look. “And what guarantee do I have that they won’t throw me out on my pert little arse?”

Bond smirked. He held up a fifty pound note. “For your trouble if they do.”

He took the money. “Dorchester. One hour. Gareth Mallory. Got it. Thank you, Mr. Mallory.”

Bond walked away. “Oh, that’s not my name. But it’ll do.” He disappeared around the corner.

 

~080~

 

Bond moved through the crowds like a leaf on a stream. He felt keyed up, purposeful. He headed to a Boots and bought supplies. He then went to a men’s shop just before it was closing and managed to procure a few silk ties. He hoped – _what was the boy’s name anyway? Nevermind._ He hoped whoever he was didn’t mind a bit of bondage play. Then he made for the hotel.

Checking in was not a problem. The ninth floor terrace suite was ample room enough and gave an excellent view of Hyde Park. Bond watched the moon he sipped his whiskey. The man should be calling soon. He turned from the windows that opened onto the terrace and faced the fire in the grate. He glanced at the telephone. He checked his watch. Three minutes past time.

Bond sighed and sat. Perhaps he was turned away at the door. He wasn’t dressed so badly that he would be, but this was the Dorchester and if they had the temerity to charge upwards of seven thousand pounds per night for the rooms he was occupying, their staff was damn sure going to be able to tell a rent boy at a distance. Three more minutes later the phone rang.

When the soft knock at his door came, Bond rose and peeked through the hole. There the man stood. He looked nervous, but he had combed his hair.

“I suppose darkened alleyways are a bit more familiar to you?” asked Bond as he granted access. He watched, bemused, as the young man took in the opulence of the accommodation.

He gave out a low whistle. “This is incredible,” he murmured. “You a lord or something?”

Bond chuckled. “Hardly.”

“Right,” said the man. He turned back to him and said: “Shall we get started?”

“It’s an all night conversation, remember. There’s no need to rush,” said Bond. “Can I get you something to drink?”

The man looked uncertain. “Sure.”

“Whiskey, brandy, gin,” recited Bond. “Pick your poison.”

“Water,” said the man. “I like to keep my wits about me.”

Bond paused for a moment. “Water it is.” He poured and handed the glass over silently. Bond reclined in the sofa as the man drank and looked out of the windows. “Do I get to know a name for you at all?”

“Call me whatever you like,” he said.

“Not good enough,” said Bond.

“Then call me Q,” he replied.

“That’s not a name; that’s the seventeenth letter of the alphabet.”

“And yet, it is what I am called,” replied Q. “Take it or leave it.”

There was another knock at the door. Q turned to face it and turned to Bond with a puzzled look. Bond also thought he spotted a bit of panic. “Don’t worry. All my friends are out of town. This is just a little something to eat. I assume you haven’t had your supper.” He made his way to the door and let in the waiter. A beautiful presentation of two dishes were revealed under their silver covers and set on the dining room table along with plates, cloth napkins, and cutlery. The waiter left with a bow and murmur.

Bond motioned for Q. He held out a chair. “Sit.”

“What is that?” asked Q pointing at the food.

“The black stuff with the chopped chive and chopped egg is caviar. The white stuff with asparagus and broadbeans is risotto. Now sit.”

Q settled in the chair with an uneasy look on his face. He watched as Bond placed some caviar on a buckwheat blini. “Never had either. Heard of them. Never…” Bond was holding out the caviar to feed it to him.

“Eat,” he said.

“I can feed myself,” said Q.

“Not tonight you can’t.”

Something shifted behind Q’s eyes. He leaned in and took a tentative bite. A piece of roe clung to his lips and Bond watched a pink tongue sweep it away before he chewed. “Do you hate it?” Q shook his head. “Good. There’s hope for you. Another bite please.”

Q became bolder and opened his mouth wide, taking in the whole of the caviar, lips barely brushing Bond’s fingers. His eyes never left Bond’s as he chewed his mouthful.

_Christ…_

He moved a chair over so he could sit closely to Q. “Care for another?” he asked. Q nodded as his mouth worked. Bond built another blini up with a bit of egg and chive, piling the caviar on top. Q bit at it delicately this time, pieces of roe falling down his chin a bit as he pulled away. He seemed not to notice them, but Bond couldn’t take his eyes from them. He put the blini down on the plate and swept the roe up on a fingertip. Q smiled once he’d swallowed.

The tip of his tongue came out to gingerly but gracefully to lick at the proffered digit. Heat spread to Bond’s belly as he felt the warmth and smoothness of that tongue swirl around his fingertip, lips kissing it as he pulled away.

Bond reached over for a spoon and dipped it in the creamy risotto. “Time for something a bit different,” he said. Q licked at it, but then pulled back. “Hot,” he said. Bond gave him a quick puzzled look but then cupped a hand under the spoon and blew on its contents gently. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Q lick his lips, his eyes focused on Bond’s mouth.

_So… I’m not the only one turned on here. Good._

He watched Q’s jawline work as he ate, as he sucked the creamy dish off the utensil’s surface. “Tastes alright?” Q nodded. Bond wanted to kiss him. The urge was almost overwhelming. He gathered another spoonful and held it to Q’s lips. Three slow breaths later Bond held out the spoon to those ruby lips again. Q slid his tongue under it before closing his mouth over and allowing the metal to slide away from him, eyes closed. Q let out a grunt of pleasure.

_Shit…_

Bond fed him again and again there was the pink tongue, the red lips, the jaw, and two jade eyes reduced to mere slits as the taste hit him and he hummed with the goodness of it all. “Thank you, Gareth,” he said between his mouthfuls.

“Thank you, Q,” Bond murmured.

The next spoonful was teased toward Q’s mouth. Just as Bond got close, he pulled it away so Q had to laughingly chase his next morsel. He placed a hand on Bond’s knee as he leaned in, sliding it slowly up then inside of his thigh. Before his hand reached his manhood, Bond relented and let Q have his food.

Q swept the food off the spoon and, before he leaned back in his own chair, brushed his face close to Bond’s, their eyes meeting intensely for a fleeting instant. One word echoed in the agent’s head: _WANT_.

His mind raced with all the things he wanted to do to him. Images flashed in his head: bed, bath, wall, sofa, floor. He wanted to watch him masturbate. He wanted to suck him off. He wanted to deny him orgasm until he wept, begging. He wanted to pound into him. He wanted to fuck him slowly. He wanted to fuck him out on the terrace as all of London looked on. He wanted to tie him up and torture him with ice cubes, candle wax, knifepoint. That last thought froze Bond in his tracks.

“Alright, Gareth?” asked Q. A piece of his fringe had drooped over one eye and he stared up through it at the agent.

“Hmm? Oh it’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“You sure?” asked Q with a smirk. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

Bond sobered up at that and covered his temporary embarrassment with an annoyed grimace. “Eat,” he ordered and he brought up another spoonful.

“Yes, sir,” said Q quietly, lowering his eyes. For a moment Bond thought he honestly felt admonished, but the way he peeked back up at him and slowly smiled let Bond know that he was simply being coy.

Something happened inside of Bond. He fisted his hand in Q’s hair, pulling his head back suddenly. There was fear in Q’s eyes in an instant. He gasped and his hands clutched at the seat of his chair reflexively, soon shifting to Bond’s shirtfront and arm in his desperation. “Please,” was all he managed.

Bond slowly released Q like a man waking from a deep sleep. He dropped the spoon in the plate. He rose suddenly and walked to the far side of the small dining room. Bond stared out the window and in the reflection of the glass he could see Q smoothing his hair where he had grabbed him and trying to quiet his panicky breaths. Bond also saw Q trying to work out whether one thousand British Pounds Sterling was worth it to leave with bruises or worse. In the end, he saw Q resign himself to his fate; eyes cast downward, hands in his lap. Bond’s heart broke.

“Are you that skint?” he asked him.

Q looked up. “What?”

Bond turned to face him. “Why are you here?”

Q looked at him as though it were the stupidest question in the world. “Because you’re paying me to be.”

“Yes. But what will you do with the money once you’ve earned it?”

“What the hell business is it of yours?” The question came out of Q’s mouth before his brain had a chance to remind him that he had almost had his scalp torn off by this man not two minutes ago. Bond saw the quick flash of fear that it brought.

“Listen,” said Bond, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Really?” said Q, rubbing the back of his hair.

“Really,” said Bond, not missing the significance of the body language. “But there are certain things - certain behaviors - that are going to trigger certain responses from me. You should be aware that I want to do all sorts of things to you but none of them without your express permission.”

“It’s not as if you’re the first deviant I’ve fucked, you know,” said Q. “It’s just that usually there’s a bit of a palaver first. You know: safe words, what’s the limits, and stuff like that.”

“So what are your limits?” asked Bond.

“No scars,” said Q. “No permanent marks of any kind. I don’t like pain, but I’ll put up with a bit of it to satisfy the customer. Spankings and shite like that are cool.”

“And your safe word?” asked Bond.

“Bulldog,” said Q.

“Bulldog?” asked Bond. “Rather unusual, but alright.”

“My first had a bulldog,” said Q by way of explanation. He looked down at the food before him. “The risotto is really good. May I feed myself now or do you still want the honors?”

“Help yourself,” said Bond. He watched Q tuck in and left him to go out to the terrace for a smoke and to clear his head.

He couldn’t figure out what was going on with him. This should be simple: hire rent boy, fuck him, pay him, go back to work. Done and dusted. But it wasn’t going easy. There was something about him… _Jesus Christ… what was wrong?_

This boy was a stranger to him and he shouldn’t mean anything. He should be able to fuck him or even kill him without a second thought. Why was he so hesitant about just getting on with it? Was it his build? Slight as he was, he was still wiry. Was it his demeanor? He wasn’t that different from your average rent boy. Bond couldn’t put his finger on why he wanted… more from this man and it annoyed him to no end. He stabbed out his cigarette viciously and seconds later lit up another.

Bond thought about how utterly useless he felt. Normally, he’d just do what he and Alec and countless other Double-Ohs had done: drink or fuck - or both. But that wasn’t Bond’s instinct here. He didn’t want the sudden “one and done” with him. He wanted to spend days with him doing nothing, talking about whatever came into his head. He wanted to spill his guts to this kid just to be able to get out of his own head for a bit. He wanted to confess every black deed he had committed for Queen and country. He wanted to break all the rules and lose himself in jade green eyes. Bond leaned on the terrace ledge and stared into nothingness. _This was not good._

There was a voice behind him: “What now?” He turned to see Q standing in the doorway, arms bracing either side, shirt unbuttoned at the top, hair caressed by the slight breeze. He was entirely fuckable. And he was all his for tonight. But he didn’t want to just fuck him and leave it at that. Q was not that simple. In this moment, as he stood there in the doorway as casual as you please, he wanted to memorize every inch of him, map his body entire.

Bond was used to listening to his instincts. On more than one occasion they had been the only thing that had saved his life. He relied on them thoroughly. He did so again. Bond cocked his head to the side and regarded the boy. His instincts were talking loud and clear when he asked: “When was the last time you had a bath?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the setting for this chapter:  
> The bathroom at the Terrace Suite at the Dorchester --
> 
> http://s3.amazonaws.com/luxurysociety/assets/articles/5871_Terrace_Suite_Dorchester_medium.jpg

Bond unbuttoned Q’s shirt, button after button exposing alabaster flesh, and Q let him. The moment didn’t call for casual conversation, but Bond wanted to know more about him and the only thing to do was ask. “So tell me: why this life for you?”

“Rule one,” said Q, his eyes never leaving Bond’s face, “Never tell about your past; it muddies the future.”

“And who established that rule? You?” Another button came unfastened and Bond ran an idle fingertip over the tender skin just under his breastbone.

“A friend of mine from a long time ago,” said Q.

“And he taught you everything you know, eh?” Another button was released from its duty.

“Not everything. But he taught me enough.”

“You’re breaking your own rule, you know.” Bond pulled Q’s shirt tails from his trousers.

“Bending it a bit, yeah.”

“How long before it breaks?” Bond removed Q’s shirt from his shoulders, allowing it to fall to the bathroom floor.

“I’ll let you know.”

“Do you enjoy it?” Bond smoothed the back of his hand along Q’s belly.

“Already told you: rule one.” Q’s eyes seemed to drift back and forth between the tub and Bond.

Bond’s eyes caught Q’s. “I can’t even know if you’re enjoying my company or not?” He wrapped warm hands around Q’s waist, gripping his sides gently. If he had wanted, Bond could have picked Q up bodily and thrown him backward against the marble floor, he was that delicate.

“Something tells me that your ego will get over it,” said Q. “And besides: does it matter? If I’m doing my job correctly, you’ll think I’m enjoying myself.”

“You’re not that good an actor,” said Bond. “Soap or bubbles?”

Q gave him a grin: “Surprise me.”

Bond leaned in close, brushing his lips against Q’s as he growled: “Don’t move.” He went up the three steps to the sunken tub and opened the taps to draw a hot bubble bath. As the water filled the tub, he returned to a patient Q and deftly unbuckled his belt for him. Q watched him do it, his fringe falling over his eyes.

“Just how old are you anyway?” He traced a finger under the waistband of Q’s trousers.

Q flicked his fringe aside as he brought his head up. “Legal. And you are just full of questions, aren’t you, Mr. Mallory?”

Bond paused at the sound of that name. “James,” he said. “My name is James.”

“Are we breaking one of your rules now?”

“I don’t have rules,” said Bond.

“That’s a lie,” said Q. A tiny smirk appeared on his face.

“Is that something that your friend taught you too? How to spot a liar?”

Q shrugged. “It’s a useful ability considering my line of work, don’t you agree?”

“I should think that telling them would prove more useful.” Bond unfastened Q’s flies, mildly delighted to see the black briefs underneath. “I should have bought you panties,” he mused.

Bond looked up to see Q grinning at him. “Would you like that, James?”

A heat spread to Bond’s groin again at the mention of his name. He leaned in again and growled at ruby lips apart: “Q… I would love that.”

“Hmm…” said Q, “sounds to me like daddy has a twink kink. Perhaps we should move this on to the bedroom?”

Bond narrowed his eyes. “You know, I’ve no problem at all with spanking you.”

“Oh!” said Q, his eyes lighting up, “you’re like something out of a dream. Just remember my safeword.”

“Bulldog,” repeated Bond. “Got it, yeah.” He turned back to the tub which was practically overflowing with suds and turned off the taps. Bond pointed to a spot against the wall near where Q was standing. “Shoes and socks please.” Q gave him another grin and he complied. When Bond crooked a finger at him, he walked barefoot to him.

Q put a toe into the suds, his trouser leg hem disappearing. “That’s quite warm,” said Q. He pulled his foot out and reached into his trouser pockets for some condoms and lube. He set them down beside the tub.

“Too hot?” asked Bond.

Q shook his head. “Should be perfect. And it’s big enough for two.”

“So it is.”

Bond peeled Q’s trousers off of his body, slowly drawing them down from his hips, along his thighs, past his knees, and to his feet. Bond was down on one knee and looking up at Q who had busied himself with stepping out of his trousers and kicking them across the raised platform. Bond continued to watch him even after he had come to stand still before him. From this angle and with that small smile that he wore, Q looked like a benevolent, playful angel. “You are truly beautiful, you know.”

Q blushed. “Thank you,” he said. “And you’re fucking devastating.”

“Thank you,” said Bond. He grabbed the top of Q’s waistband and pulled the material gently away and down, exposing his uncut manhood. As with his trousers, Bond removed the pants with the utmost reverence and care until they pooled around Q’s ankles.

“Your turn,” said Q. He put a fingertip under Bond’s chin and pressed gently upward so he would stand before him. Bond allowed himself to be gazed upon by a naked Q for a few tense-filled moments. Q was studying him as though to figure out how best to crack this nut open. He decided on the direct approach. “Remove your shoes and socks first, I think.”

“You remove them. I’m paying you, remember?”

Q narrowed his eyes and made a face, but he got on his knees before Bond and began to untie his shoes. Bond admired the dimples above his arse as he leaned forward on his knees. He wanted so badly to touch, to taste, an undeniable heat moving southward in his belly made him smile. Q would suck him off right here and now if he wanted him to. But that wasn’t the plan.

Both socks and shoes were a matter of moments to remove and Q slowly stood before Bond, fingers deftly untying his tie. Bond noticed tiny flecks of gold within the green of his eyes. He could stare into them for days. If the sex was as fantastic as all that, he was sure he would find a way to do just that. But for now, Bond was content to bide his time. Nothing could rush this.

He was unbuttoning his shirt when it happened: Q bit his lip in concentration. He wasn’t even looking at Bond. He had done it unconsciously. It was unintentional, but it hit Bond’s libido like a two-tonne lorry. Q let it slowly slip from between his teeth and a perfect pink tongue darted out afterward, giving the ruby lip a high shine. And as he continued to slowly unbutton, he did it again. Bond couldn’t look away.

He felt Q tug the material of his shirt out from his trousers, but he paid no attention. Q clucked his tongue when he realized that Bond’s cuffs were still buttoned. He grabbed Bond’s right wrist and unbuttoned the first cuff, lip slipping under the pressure of his teeth again and didn’t slide all the way out again until the left cuff was undone. The shirt fell to the floor behind Bond.

“May I touch?” asked Q.

“What?” asked Bond. “Hmm? Oh yes. It’s alright.” He was watching Q’s mouth rather than listening to the sounds it was making. It embarrassed Bond to be rendered so inattentive. Something like that would get him killed in the field. He cleared his throat and forced himself to look beyond Q at the opposite wall.

“Let me know if anything I’m doing is unpleasant,” murmured Q. He was watching his own hands move across Bond’s tanned skin, fingertips digging in just far enough to cause the skin to whiten and then redden a bit. He traced one hard finger over a nipple and smirked when Bond sucked in a small breath. He gazed at Bond’s face. “Did you want me to suck on one?” Feather light, he circled one fingertip around Bond’s areola.

“Go on,” said Bond.

Q slowly regarded Bond’s left nipple, gracefully tipping his head over as he rested his fingertips lightly against the taut muscles of Bond’s abdomen. Bond looked down to watch Q’s mouth hover open over his nipple, that small pink perfect tongue reaching from between red lips apart to tease the end of the pert nubbin, hot breath gently wafting over the sensitive skin.

Bond was hard almost immediately. Q was only there for a moment, long enough for the mix of wet warm tongue and hot breath, turned cool by just the merest hint of saliva, to register in Bond’s mind. Then he tipped his head up, smiled at Bond and leaned gracefully over, curving that long neck of his so elegantly to make for his other nipple.

The flesh there was already at attention and Q’s pearly teeth took the tip between them firmly but gently, dragging along the small mound. Bond cried out. He couldn’t help himself. The sight of Q doing this to him, the simplicity of it, the sensual nature of his touch, was almost too much to bear. It was a tease that needed a conclusion. There was a taste, but no satisfaction. Bond needed more. He wanted to tackle him to the ground or push him to the wall, his cock full and desperate for friction. “Christ,” he managed. He grabbed Q by the back of his head gently, encouragingly, and moaned: “More, Q. Please.”

Q gave him a sidelong glance and smirked again in that cocksure way. His mouth slowly closed over his teeth and he sucked painfully against the tissue. It was unexpected and completely needed. Bond moaned aloud, his voice echoing against the hard surfaces of the bath area. Q pulled off with a wet pop and used his tongue to sooth the skin before going to the other and sucking gently as a babe against its mother’s breast, eyes closed, lost in the sensation of it.

Q’s fingertips tracked down to Bond’s waistband and soon his belt and his trousers were undone, releasing the bulge of his clothed erection from out of his flies. Those same fingertips found a home down the back of his trousers, beneath his pants, and along Bond’s arse, coursing against the flesh of his cheeks and squeezing firmly.

Bond noticed that the bath was still just sitting there with all the soap bubbles popping for all the seconds gone by. The water was hot beneath and would feel wonderful on both of them. He wanted in: in the tub and in Q – and he wanted it now.

“Time to finish undressing me, I think,” said Bond.

Q’s eyes fluttered open and he licked his lips again as he stood. Again, Bond wanted to _take_ … but he didn’t want to lose control. If he lost control, he wouldn’t enjoy any of it. It would be too fleeting. And there was always the lingering feeling that once satisfied, he wouldn’t want Q anymore. He didn’t want to waste the boy like that. Q made quick work of Bond’s trousers, kneeling down to remove them from his ankles. Bond’s sexual interest was unmistakable and cheekily Q rubbed his face against Bond’s pants front before guiding the waistband over and around the hard cock beneath.

“Mmm… that looks delicious,” murmured Q. “May I have a taste?”

Bond thought about it for a moment. “No,” he said finally. Q looked disappointed. Bond nodded toward the tub. “In,” he commanded. Tentatively, Q stepped into the water. “Is it still warm enough?” asked Bond.

Standing in the tub, bubbles to mid-thigh, Q turned and said: “It’s very warm, but not overly so. Join me?” He held out a hand and peeked up coquettishly through his eyelashes.

Bond smirked. “No,” he said. He took up a large natural sponge from a bath side rack and tossed it to Q. “Here. Scrub up. And do it slowly.” He stood and watched, his arms crossed.

Q looked at the sponge and back at Bond. “As you wish, daddy,” Q said obediently another crafty grin playing across his features. He bent over slowly, soaking the sponge and dragging it up one leg to his chest. He came across one arm, suds and water coursing down his thin frame and spreading gooseflesh despite the steamy temperature of the water.

“No,” said Bond. “I said scrub.”

Q’s face was a mask as he looked at Bond for a moment only to shrug and fall back to his task of washing himself, scrubbing the sponge hard against his skin, making it rosy. He scrubbed one arm and then the next, along his chest, against his belly and hips, down one leg and then the other, pointedly avoiding his prick. He scrubbed away until his skin was ruddy. He dipped the sponge back in the bath and held it up, dripping wet. He wrung it out over his chest, water and soap dripping in sheets against his skin. He wet the sponge again and held it toward Bond: “Will you do my back?”

Bond didn’t say a word. He merely climbed down into the bath with Q and pointing a twirling finger downward, motioned for Q to turn around. Q turned to face a wall of windows that looked out over London as Bond gripped his shoulder with one hand and scrubbed along his back, buttocks, and thighs with a deft hand. “You pink up nicely,” said Bond.

“Thank you,” said Q. He suddenly bent over double, gripping the side of the tub. “Don’t forget my naughty bits, daddy.”

“You can stop with the ‘daddy’ name, thank you, Q,” said Bond.

“Just trying to have fun with it, James,” said Q, his arse still in the air. “But if you don’t want to play that way…” He made to stand up and Bond stopped his motion with a hand to his shoulder.

“I’ll need a flannel for this,” Bond said. He tossed the sponge aside and reached for one of the many flannels that were in the bath rack. He soaked it in the soapy water and pressed it around Q’s arse, squeezing the flesh and making his cheeks more pink with every pass. He pushed the cheeks apart. Q spread his feet further and bent impossibly low, curving his spine in the most lascivious way so that his chest was at the tub’s edge. “Christ,” muttered Bond.

Q’s hole was there for the taking. Bond trailed the flannel lightly over his anus, tickling the delicate flesh there. “You filthy boy,” said Bond. “Look at you. What a mess you are.”

Q squirmed and let out a soft sigh. “More, James. Please,” he begged softly. Bond felt himself dripping, the precum trailing down his shaft.

“You are so fucking gorgeous, Q,” said Bond. “I could fuck you right here, you know. Just slick myself up and push into you… Christ.”

“What’s stopping you?” said Q.

“I want to enjoy you,” said Bond, watching the cloth as he moved it along Q’s skin. “You don’t gobble down caviar; you savor it. You don’t suck on an expensive cigar; you invite the smoke into your mouth. You don’t drink two-hundred-year-old cognac; you experience it. You are a fucking work of art, Q. I will not devour you. I will immerse myself in you.”

Bond pressed the flannel along Q’s crack, swirled a finger against his opening and continued down to the tip of his balls. He washed his scrotum, massaging the testes, and guided the cloth back up, pressing a finger gently into the opening. Q’s arsehole seemed eager for it and he felt the muscle pinch around the tip of his finger as Q pressed back against him and squeezed. It captured the flannel but not his finger and Q kept gyrating against the sensation, looking for a firmer object upon which to impale himself. He whimpered with the effort. “James… Ugh… Please James. Christ. Please!”

Bond kissed Q’s arse cheeks softly. “Shh… easy love,” he cooed. “It’ll be fine.” He pulled the flannel from his arse and dipped it in the water again. Again he washed Q’s buttocks, arsehole, and scrotum. Again he dipped a firm finger into Q’s waiting hole. Again Q whimpered like a helpless puppy.

“Mmmore, James,” said Q. “Your finger, your tongue, something… please!”

Bond smirked. “Perhaps you’re a better actor than I thought.”

Q shot him a look. “Who’s acting at this point? You’re hot, I’m hard, and I want you to fuck me senseless. The math is not difficult here.”

Bond laughed. He kissed the base of Q’s spine and gave him a very light, playful slap on his arse. “And I want to fuck you too. But be patient. Remember: you’re a fucking masterpiece to me. And I’m something of a connoisseur; I can’t be rushed.”

Q let out an exasperated sigh and muttered something about finally fucking his masterpiece that Bond couldn’t quite hear. Bond moved to the end of the tub where the lube was. Slicking up one of his hands, he stood behind Q, grabbed Q’s cock in his lubed hand, and pressed his own hard cock into Q’s soapy crack.

“Oh fuck!” said Q. His hips took on a life of their own as they pressed and pushed and undulated against Bond’s hardness. Bond found that he didn’t have to actually stroke Q’s cock; he seemed to be doing all the work for him. Bond firmed up his grip around Q’s prick a bit and watched Q slowly fall apart against him.

“Yes… fuck yes… James. Oh God. Please put it in me. Please. I need… I need it.”

The warmth of the water was nothing in comparison to the heat from Q’s arse against his throbbing manhood. He could feel the pulse and twitch of it with every movement of Q’s hips, head exposing itself from beneath the foreskin, glistening with precum. He touched a finger to it and watched it string itself away from his tip as he pulled away. “Fuck,” Bond muttered. He knew what else he’d like to feed Q.

“Will you please just give me your prick?” moaned Q. “I fucking need it, James.”

 “Not as badly as I do,” said Bond. The feel of Q’s arse around his cock was intolerable. Bond needed to change tactics or he would spend himself all over Q’s arse and back. He quickly pulled the plug on the tub and brought Q upright, dragging him from the tub with a cry and whimper. He guided both of them carefully to the shower. “Come on. We need to wash off. There are places on your body where I need to put my mouth and I want to taste you and not soap.”


	4. Chapter 4

The water was warm as it coursed out of the shower head directly above them. Bond set the lube bottle upon the shower shelf and swept his arm about Q’s waist, bringing them both close for a kiss. He carded his fingers through Q’s mass of hair, brushing it away from his face. He felt the intimacy in the moment. It was more than just two naked bodies under a warm spray of water. It was the trust of this unknown stranger in his arms, giving himself to Bond so willingly. He felt Q snake his arms around his waist and hold him closer as their kiss deepened.

A warm wet tongue, velvet soft, entered his mouth, took a tentative lick at his own. He was asking permission. He was whimpering and begging for Bond’s cock not three minutes before and Bond almost chuckled out loud at the sweetness of the notion. It seemed as though Q was changing tactics to get what he wanted. Bond pulled away. “What happened to needing my cock in you?”

“I still do,” said Q softly, kissing a wet collarbone. His breath was a delicate touch on his shoulder just before his next kiss. He trailed kisses along his neck, up toward his ear and gently placed his lips over and over along the shell of it. “Do you not want to fuck me, James?”

“You know I do,” said Bond, passing his hands over the soft skin of his back, watching the water course around his fingers and down past the cleft of his arse. “But I don’t-“

“- want to rush things,” Q finished for him. “Yes, I understand.” He sucked a hard kiss to Bond’s neck and groaned his frustration. He pulled back and looked Bond in the eye. “The problem with that is my cock has other plans, James.”

Bond chuckled. “Your cock is not my boss,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I’m here to get away from taking commands. I plan on giving them. Or do you misunderstand our arrangement?” To make his point clear, he grabbed the back of Q’s hair, gently tugging his head backward, and capturing his mouth once more.

“I want… I want…,” began Q.

“No, Q,” said Bond. “This is not about what you want.”

“Then tell me what you want,” said Q. He was begging now. Bond’s cock throbbed when he saw the need in Q’s eyes. Q brought his mouth close to Bond’s and whispered: “What would you have me do to you, James? How can I please you?”

Bond’s lips found Q’s for a brief moment and he said: “Suck my balls.”

“Fuck,” muttered Q. His eyes closed and he sank to his knees. He kissed the inside of Bond’s thighs, warm tongue licking where each kiss planted. Q turned about, sat between Bond’s legs facing forward and took Bond’s scrotum into his mouth, his right arm wrapped around the outside of Bond’s right leg, his left arm came up between Bond’s legs and his hand was planted on his lower abdomen. He hummed along Bond’s scrotum and Bond nearly came undone.

Bond moved his feet apart and closed his eyes. He let his head loll backward, the spray hitting his face and chest, his arms at his sides, while the incredibly arousing sensation of lips and tongue fervently massaging his testicles made him moan: “Oh God, Q.” He wanted to touch himself but he knew he would cum too quickly. Once again, he was overwhelmed with sensual vignettes that flashed in his mind: Q against the wall of the shower, face first, Bond’s cock in his arse, fingers in his mouth; Bond face fucking him; Q riding his cock as he sat on the floor of the shower, the warm water pinking Q’s delicate flesh.

Q was moving his hands up and down Bond’s abdomen and thighs and along his buttocks as his mouth worked. He snuck a finger up the crack of Bond’s arse, the tip massaging his pucker. Bond sucked in a breath and let out a moan. “Did you want to fuck me, Q?” he asked.

“I want to do what you want me to do, James,” Q replied. “Besides… you just said-“

“No, you misunderstand. I don’t want you to order me to do anything. But when I ask a question, I expect an honest answer. So let’s try this again.” said Bond. He stepped back and pulled Q to his feet. “I asked you what you wanted, Q,” he said. “Now what do you want?”

Q gave him an evaluating stare. “I want to earn my money,” he replied. Bond was silenced as though Q had slapped him. He must have worn the expression to match because Q quickly added: “And I want to fuck you.”

Bond narrowed his eyes. He was still being handed lip service. “Prove it,” he said.

“How?” said Q.

Bond smirked. “Take me. Show me what you can do.” He held up a finger in warning: “But I don’t want either of us to cum. That’s the only limitation.”

Q nodded. That smirk was back on his face and he kissed Bond. “Turn around and bend over, James.” He added a thoughtful: “Please.”

Bond raised an eyebrow, but smirked back and complied with Q’s request. Q wasted no time; he licked and kissed Bond’s arsehole with fervor. It was so sudden, that Bond couldn’t hold back a cry and he braced his hand against the shower wall. The water reddened his back and buttocks as Q ate hungrily, moaning, licking, growling, and occasionally nipping at the tender hole and its surrounding flesh. Bond’s straining cock had almost had it. He wanted to be able to bury it inside Q or have Q fuck him, something – anything – to relieve the tension. It was torture – but it was torture too fast.

Bond’s need to pace things out still burned within him. He knew that once he came, he’d only have so much recovery time before he could fuck again and the feelings he had for this boy might fade completely by then. He hated his mercurial sexual appetite; there was no constancy, no consistency. He was entirely too fickle when the sex wasn’t job-related.

But why was that a bad thing? In his line of work, a dedicated partner he could want over and over again would be a terrible idea; best just to use this boy for the night and then chuck him out with his precious thousand pounds come morning. After all, he had basically told Bond that that was all he was here for.

Bond was brought out of his reverie by Q’s tongue penetrating his arse. He pushed back against the sensation purely by instinct. But Q’s tongue darted about, never fulfilling, never satisfying, working too quickly against his hole to do anything other than create a greater need for something more substantial inside him. Bond needed more and this wasn’t the way he needed it. He didn’t want another itch to scratch; he wanted the pressure to slowly build. He wanted the heat to spread slowly in his belly. He didn’t want to get off; he wanted to _move through_.

Q wasn’t thinking along those lines at all. He was rushing things just as Bond had told him he didn’t want to do. With every move Q made, there was no substance, there was only the sex act and even worse - there was no pleasure in it, no enjoyment of being completely captured by someone. He didn’t want to admit that he was simply a means to an end for Q. He didn’t want to entertain the thought that Q may be fucking him quickly to get his money and scarper. That meant that Bond was no more than a mark to Q and that just wouldn’t stand in his opinion. Bond became irritated.

Suddenly, Alec’s voice was in his head: _He’s a rent boy, James. What the hell did you expect? Of course you’re a means to an end! You’re paying his bloody rent! You’re a job to him, nothing more._

As soon as he felt Q’s fingertip press inside him he stood. “What’s wrong?” asked Q. The boy was on his knees, hair matted slick on his scalp, lips red from his ministrations. He looked completely debauched. He looked completely fuckable. Bond caught his breath. There had to be more to this boy.

Without a word, he took Q by the wrists and helped him to his feet. Pressing him up against the back shower wall, he lay against him and raised his hands above his head, holding them there by his wrists. “My turn,” he whispered into Q’s ear.

_I’ll show you a thing or two, rent boy._

The barest touch of lips against alabaster skin, trailing down Q’s neck and to his collarbone followed by the tiniest nip to his skin; it was all that was needed to get Q to suck in a breath. Bond brought his head around to stare into Q’s eyes. “Why do you confound me?” he whispered. Moving around to Q’s other ear he rasped: “Why do you vex me? Why are you so bewitching?” He continued to question aloud as his mouth moved along Q where it left a fire-trail of kisses, licks, and nibbles against the soft underside of his arm. Q shivered as Bond asked his skin: “You shouldn’t mean this much to me. Why do you mean this much?” The tender flesh of his elbow and his forearm were showered in kisses, marked red with his teeth. “What is it about you that has me so completely ensnared?”

He moved to Q’s earlobe once again, pressing the length of himself against Q even more. “Are you the devil? Are you a demon?” He looked Q in the eye, the boy’s pupils blown wide with desire. “Or are you an angel?” He kissed Q softly, chastely. “If you’re an angel, I’m past forgiving. You should know that. God forsook me long ago.” He pulled back and looked down their bodies. Q’s chest was heaving with every breath. He couldn’t stop staring at him. “Are you trying to drive me mad?” asked Bond.

Bond kissed him deeply, slowly, savoring his taste, rolling his tongue around in all that was Q and feeling Q’s body rise to him, pushing back into him with new-found passion. Their fingers intertwined. The kiss lingered, faded, and started again. The shower walls echoed the soft sounds of their love-making and mingled it with the white noise of the showering water that fell unnoticed behind Bond’s back.

“I’m far from an angel,” Q managed to whisper.

“And yet,” said Bond. “You look like you’ve been painted into life. Do you know that?”

“A masterpiece,” said Q. “You’ve said.” Q looked dazzled.

“And I meant it,” said Bond. He lost himself in another kiss. It was better this way. The other way was too impersonal, too “by rote”. Their talking and being able to live in each other’s eyes was much better. It prevented Q from making this all about business and it helped Bond not feel even more empty than he was before the boy walked into his life. This was good.

Slowly Bond disengaged his right hand from Q’s left and pinned both his hands above his head with just his left. His other hand caressed down his arm and over his ribs, pressed flat so as not to tickle, and down to his hip. Bond’s mouth found Q’s left armpit and buried a kiss into it. He felt Q’s cock harden against him as he shifted and felt his own fill again with the response Q was giving him. Bond hummed along the hollow of the pit and moved his mouth down toward his ribcage, scraping his teeth against the flesh-and-bone expanse. He licked his nipple in passing and brought his head back up to the suprasternal notch where his tongue lapped at the concave space until Q called out “James”.

Bond flicked the top of the lube bottle open and tipped it into his hand. Deftly he closed it and placed it back on the shower shelf. Q gasped audibly when he took their cocks up together, pressing and smoothing them against one another. Bond watched carefully as Q fell apart: head falling back, ruby lips tantalizingly wet, Adam’s apple working as he swallowed hard. Bond licked at his throat with the tip of his tongue, scraped along it with his teeth. “Shit, James,” moaned Q.

Q was truly lost now: his eyes cast about helplessly, his breath was shallow, his hips ground against the slick cocks that flipped over each other in Bond’s firm grip. Bond kissed him again. “You will cum when I tell you to, won’t you, Q?”

“Whatever you say, James,” said Q, eyes closed and helpless. “Whatever you need. Oh God, James.”

“Then you’ll also take the order not to cum, won’t you, my angel?”

Q opened his eyes to meet James’. “I want nothing more than to please you, James.”

There was the truth Bond had been looking for. He smiled. “Then you will let me worship you, Q,” said Bond. “You will let me bring you to the fucking brink and ease you back down again, over and over if I wish. Won’t you?”

“My body is yours, James,” said Q.

“Good boy,” whispered Bond. “Now… close your eyes… and lose yourself to this. Let go.” He squeezed just a bit more firmly and continued to pump their cocks in a slow, steady rhythm that had them both reeling within minutes.

“Oh yeah,” breathed Q. “God yes, James. More. Need to cum.”

“Balls tight?” he asked. Q nodded. “Euphoria set in?” Q moaned something unintelligible. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“C-close,” managed Q. “So close.” If Bond was honest, he was close too. He released both of their cocks and stepped back. A wail came from Q that was the audible version of agony. Bond felt it too. “You bastard!” cried Q. Bond stepped back to him and pressed against him again. He took up their cocks once more, gently, touching them as lightly as he was able.

“Trust me, Q,” he said. “Just ride it out.” Bond could feel his own orgasmic euphoria slowly fall away and he timed his stroke with its fading off. When it was almost gone, he pumped their cocks together again, feeling the members swell stiffly in his hand. Q gripped his shoulders, seemingly clinging for life as the crest of the wave came over him again, building and building until his balls tightened. Just before the sweet release came to coat both of them in ropes of cum, Bond let go again, allowing for the crest to ride within them both and fall away slowly, each man panting his moaning breath into the other’s mouth when their desperate kiss became a mutual, commiserating cry and whimper.

“We need to get to the bedroom. I want to memorize your body, Q,” Bond whispered after a third rise and fall had swept through them both. But Q wasn’t a man anymore; he was a crumpled piece of paper caught in a strong wind; he was a rudderless ship adrift in a white-capped sea. There was a longing expression on his face. The English language had left him after the second peak he rode and his green eyes spoke in place of his voice. They told a library’s worth of words compressed down like a diamond into a singular plea: _please_.


	5. Chapter 5

Bond escorted Q to the bedroom. It was dominated by a massive king size bed against one wall, but Q was so distracted by the kiss Bond swept him up in, he didn’t really care that the room was just as opulent as all the others in the suite.

Bond cast his towel from his waist and lay it across the duvet. He stripped Q of his and scrubbed his hair with it. His black mop was an even bigger unkempt mess and Q’s dazed and lazy smile complimented it. Bond kissed him again. “So fucking gorgeous, Q.” Q hummed a thank you against his mouth, wrapping his arms about Bond’s neck and pressing his lithe frame close. As seductive as it was with their hard cocks trapped between them, Bond managed to break away. He had other plans. He silently lay Q’s towel down over the other on the bed and pointed. “Face down,” he ordered.

Q lay, body stretching, arms under the pillow he pulled from under the duvet. He looked back at Bond out of the corner of one eye, curious. Bond stood there taking in the view of this slim bit of nothing laid out for him like a feast. Q’s flattered smile was mischievous, his cock throbbing and reminding him of its current state pinned beneath him and against the Egyptian cotton. Beads of water collected on his body, stood out against his skin, dripping in places and leaving tantalizing trails against his skin. Without a word, Bond move to the end of the bed and took Q’s left ankle in his hand. A warm kiss was placed just below the ankle bone on the inside of his foot.

Q closed his eyes and pressed his head into the pillow. Bond could tell he was bracing himself for another slow round of sensual lovemaking and smirked as he licked into the arch of Q’s foot. Q flinched and barked laughter at the same time and Bond raised an eyebrow. “Ticklish?”

“Shut it,” Q groused, embarrassed.

Bond laughed and bent to his task: his tongue and lips found every droplet along Q’s legs, calf muscles, the tender crease behind his knees, along his thighs. He circled his ankles with kisses and placed a kiss to the sole of each foot. Each patch of skin seen to, cared for, and noted for Q’s reaction. He was truly ticklish behind the knee and Bond delighted at how he could make Q twist and giggle by nuzzling his nose there, even attempting to slap him away from his sensitive flesh to no avail.

Placing another kiss to his thigh, Bond pressed his cheek to it and said: “You have the best laugh.”

“Thank you, James,” said Q, catching his breath. “And you are very naughty.”

“Am I?” he asked innocently.

“More than you realize,” said Q.

Bond let out a short mirthless grunt of a laugh. “And you don’t know how accurate that statement is.” He bracketed Q’s hips between his hands and nipped at his arse. Q gave a yelp of surprise and laughed again.

“Finally enjoying yourself?” asked Bond.

“I think so,” said Q. “Although…”

“What?” He trailed more kisses all along his arse and nuzzled his nose into the crack, just teasing the flesh there while he awaited Q’s answer. None came. “Q?”

“I- I was thinking how different this all is,” he said. “You’re not treating me like…”

“A whore?” said Bond. He was placing big open-mouthed kisses first to one cheek, then the other.

“Like a temporary fix,” said Q.

Bond paused. “If it makes you feel any better, that’s all you were in the beginning.”

“What changed your mind?”

“You did,” said Bond.

“How?”

Bond brought his head up. He sat back on his heels between Q’s splayed legs and regarded him for a long moment. Q peeked back at him through wild fringe and waited.  “When you walked in,” he said. “You were uncertain and looked so vulnerable and yet, you had words for me like you were trying to be this hard man. You were playing brave, but you were pissing yourself scared. Weren’t you?”

“Never been paid so much before,” he said quietly. “And I’ve never been taken to so posh a place. I’m not exactly high society.”

Bond gave him a tilt of his head. “But even that’s a bit of a lie. You put on airs like you’re coarse and unrefined, but you’re not. Not really. You’re clever. And you started off wanting to make this evening quick so you can get back out there and make even more. I wanted to fuck that thought out of you. I wanted to make you mine. The thing is: I think you're starting to do exactly that. I don’t think you're so eager to leave anymore. Not since the shower.” Q remained silent. “Things changed for you in the shower, didn’t they?”

“Maybe,” he said.

Bond smirked at Q's small attempt at cagey bravado. “Well you can forget about leaving,” he said. “I know I’m paying you, but when I’m through, you won’t give a damn about the money anymore. You’ll want to stay.” His eyes traveled the length of him, marking each mole on his skin as he began to work down each arse cheek to the side of the hip, licking droplets and leaving lazy kisses imprinted on him. He felt Q shift when he kissed the base of his spine.

“Ah, James…” said Q. Bond nuzzled him there, licked at the waning droplets. His movements up Q’s spine were slow and deliberate, aimed to draw Q into a slow dizzying spin as his sense of touch awoke inch by inch as Bond passed over him. He drew sighs and moans from Q, watched as his hips slowly undulated against his grip and pressed his cock further into the folds of cotton beneath him. He blew cool air over his wet skin, giving birth to gooseflesh and giggles. He hummed against him and placed a firm kiss between Q’s shoulder blades.

Bending this way and that, Bond’s hair dripped on Q’s back, creating more rivulets and droplets to chase. He took the time to follow one particular drop along Q’s ribs. He nibbled there, feeling him twitch. Q’s chest shook with ragged breaths and Bond felt his body shudder with every touch. His own cock was heavy with anticipation as he rose over Q’s body to lick another cold drip down his shoulder blade and toward his armpit.

He scraped his teeth across, raising small red tracks before biting hard on that portion of the teres nearest the shoulder blade. “Ah! Fuck!” cried Q. “Jesus, James.” Bond licked over the hurt, his tongue wide, warm, and soothing. He nosed into the hair and Q turned to allow him access. Bond blew hot air into the thatch and smiled when Q moaned. “I can’t believe how fucking sexy that is, James. Christ, I’m so fucking hard.”

James took the opportunity to lick at the nipple that was presenting itself to him, a quick flick of his tongue before his lips wrapped around it to suckle gently. He felt Q’s hands in his hair. Slowly he glided one hand over Q’s stomach, fingers tracing the soft flesh and navel, stopping just short of the tip of Q’s hardness. He pulled away and supported himself on all fours around the slim figure beneath him. His hot breath tickled Q’s ear as he growled: “On your back, boy. Slowly.”

Q rotated himself as cautiously as he was able, not knowing what Bond had in store.  “When will you stop torturing me?” he asked.

“Whenever I’m satisfied that you’re not here for the money, but for me,” he said.

“But I’m sex for hire,” he said, exasporated. “That’s the point.”

“Not to me you’re not,” said Bond. “Just you wait, Q. I have such plans for you.”

Q swallowed hard. His cock lay against his abdomen, erect and throbbing. He glanced down at the line of their bodies and the space between. Bond’s tip was a mere inch away from his own hardness, dangling there like a tempting treat.

“After tonight, do you never want to see me again?” asked Bond.

“If you want me, you know where to find me,” said Q. “I’ll give you my number. We can meet anywhere you’d like.”

“That’s not an answer,” said Bond.

“That’s the only answer you’re getting,” said Q stubbornly. “Rule one.”

“So this is personal,” said Bond. He grinned slyly at Q’s shocked face. Before the boy could object, he placed a searing kiss to his mouth. “Good.” He kissed him again, sweetly, slowly. “You’re getting there. You’ll be mine soon enough.”

He brushed their cocks together with a dip of his hips. Both men gasped. “More,” begged Q. Bond did it again, coordinating it with another kiss. They moaned into each other’s mouths as the caress developed a rhythm and the kisses strung themselves together into one long tangle of lips, teeth, and tongues. Bond felt Q’s hips respond almost immediately, his need for more friction being purely primal. Bond couldn’t blame him; he was practically gagging to get off himself.

Bond crawled up toward Q’s mouth and settled his knees under Q’s armpits. Bracing himself on the cushioned headboard, he leaned over slowly until he felt Q take his cock in his mouth. Warm hands cupped his buttocks as Q worked his tongue and lips over his tip. If Bond had meant to teach a class in sensuality and pacing yourself while pleasuring someone, he would have moved Q to the head of the class at that moment.

That clever quick pink tongue darted around his corona, seemingly exploring not just the taste of Bond’s precum, but also the feel of the skin there: the flap of exposed frenulum, the hollow of the slit, the slide the precum provided when mixed with his saliva – all was being registered and experimented with. Bond found himself lost, breath stuttering with the exquisite torture of it all. “So good, Q,” he breathed. “You have no idea how badly I want to cum down your throat.”

“Then why don’t you?” he asked, his lips still pressed to Bond’s aching tip. The vibration of his voice traveled up his dick and down his legs. Bond couldn’t answer. He merely shook his head stubbornly. “Still biding your time, hmm?” Bond let out a throaty huff of breath with the feel of the quivering questioning lips against him. “Then I suppose turn-about is fair play.”

Q took Bond’s balls in one hand and swallowed his cock. It wasn’t long before his steady sucking and stroking had Bond’s gasping breaths turned to rhythmic moans. Q pulled off long enough to ask: “Getting close?”

“God, yes, Q… shit,” he managed. The feeling was heady; he felt the heat inside of him build until there was nothing but the lascivious sound of Q’s wet sucking, the feel of his mouth and hand pulling at his manhood, and the other hand gently massaging his balls. Q’s hand came off his dick, mouth still working away, and passed his fingers through the thatch of hair above his stiff member.

Bond looked down at Q. He was exquisite. Eyes closed in concentration, ruby lips working away, cheeks sucking inward with the pressure, his damp hair a wild thing, untamed, bobbing as his head moved. “Ah, fuck!” Bond sighed. He was more than close; this soon into fellatio and he felt the overwhelming euphoria slam into him. He wanted to cum, but held it at bay as best he could, fingers digging into the plush stuffed headboard, nails scratching at the cloth. His breath stuttered. He wanted to move off, to deny himself the pleasure of cumming down this beautiful boy’s throat but he hadn’t the strength in his body to move. He needed Q to help him make it last. He prayed he would. “Q…” he whispered.

Jade eyes flicked open and the crimson lips came away from his cock with a wet pop and a string of spittle. Q wrapped deft fingers around the base of his straining cock and tugged gently. It was just what he needed. He lifted up on his knees and tilted his head back, his body awash in the endorphins and dopamine.

Slowly his cock throbbed again, calling him back from his euphoric reverie. He looked down at a cocky Q. “Proud of yourself, are you?” he asked.

“It’s nice to torture you for a bit,” he replied. His hands rubbed along Bond’s thighs. “It’s quite mesmerizing to see you powerless.”

“And now you understand my fascination with taking my time,” said Bond. He removed his right knee from its resting place and lay beside Q. He kissed his mouth. “It’s nothing to make someone cum. Any fool can do that.” He kissed the hollow of his throat, trailing more kissed downward, punctuating his words: “But to be able to pull out desire, to string an orgasm along to its breaking point, to destroy someone so completely that they become someone else, someone _other_ … that’s seduction.” He licked into his navel. “And then that person ultimately becomes yours: that’s the result. That’s the goal.” He took in Q’s cock in one, right down to the base.

Q came unglued. Bond sucked in hard and slowly dragged his lips off his shaft, giving the tip a quick lick before releasing him from his touch. “You bastard!” said Q. He gasped for air. Bond watched, bemused.

“You’re not mine yet, you stubborn child,” he growled. “But you will be.” He took him in again and swallowed him whole. Sucking off hard as before, he stopped at the tip, holding it in his mouth and traced his lips up and down along it.

“Fuck!” cried Q and attempted to pull his hips up to mouth-fuck Bond. Aggressively, Bond placed a firm forearm over the top of Q’s hips, arresting his motion. The agent could feel Q’s hands on his head. His body was wracked by shuddering gasps of air. Bond brushed his knuckles against Q’s scrotum and did the only thing he could do to punish such a naughty boy: _he hummed_.

Q was the very picture of a dying saint: his back arched, his mouth open in a silent cry of agony, his fist clenched into Bond’s short tresses, his skin covered in a sheen of sweat, his hair plastered to the pillow in a dark halo, his toes curled. Caravaggio couldn’t have painted better.

Bond came off of him when he heard him finally cry his name. He sucked on his nipple and brought a hand up to squeeze at the base of his cock, staving off the overwhelming wave that had obviously rent the boy in two. When Bond looked up, Q was weeping.

“Please,” he whimpered. “Please, James… finish this. Please. I- I can’t be yours. Just have done with me. Please.”

Bond paused and gazed upon what he had done. A tear trickled down Q's temple from the side of his eye. He begged again: “ _Please._ ”


	6. Chapter 6

Bond cradled Q in his arms. As he carded a hand through Q’s hair and kissed his temple, he asked, “Did you want to safeword? It’s alright if you do. Just say the word.”

Q shut his eyes tight and wrapped an arm around Bond’s torso. “I- I don’t know what I want anymore.”

“Then we should stop,” said Bond. He lifted Q’s chin with a finger and kissed his lips softly. “We should stop.”

“I can’t-“ started Q.

“What do you mean?” asked Bond.

“You’re paying for- We have to keep going,” said Q.

“Fuck the money,” said Bond. “I told you that this isn’t about the money anymore. Not for me.”

“But are you going to- That is - are you still paying me?“ His breath came stuttering out of him. He still looked like he was going to cry. Bond couldn’t tell if he was being played or not. He hoped not.

“Don’t worry, you’ll still get paid,” said Bond, disgusted. “By the way, I really don’t appreciate being reminded constantly that you’re being paid to be here. You’re supposed to make me forget that bit. Or have you forgotten?”

“N-no, James,” said Q.

Bond gave him another moment in his arms before taking his hands in his and interlocking their fingers. He pressed Q’s hands into the mattress on either side of his head and straddled his thin frame. Both of their cocks had flagged a bit and Qs fell limply to one side of his hip. Christ, even flaccid he was still sexy. “Feeling better?” He kissed him softly.

“Yes,” said Q. Bond kissed him again, taking his time, teasing him with his tongue, brushing a lip against his for a fraction of a second before diving in deep for another drink of him. He could still taste a trace of the creamy risotto mingled with the headier tang of Q’s natural warm strawberry wine flavor: strawberries and cream. He pulled away and watched bemused as Q’s tongue reached for his mouth. He played cat-and-mouse with him for a bit until Q whimpered with want and came back down against him hard, a punishing kiss, fingers clasped tightly.

“Why can’t you be mine?” Bond asked.

“Wha-?” asked Q, dazed from the kisses.

“Why can’t you be mine? You said you couldn’t. I would like to know why.”

“Because I can’t. That’s all,” said Q. “Please stop talking like I’m going home with you. You know I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?”

Q sighed. “You can afford this place. Which means that you live somewhere with neighbors that take notice of certain things, namely the rent boy you’re keeping in your home. Do you honestly think you can pick me up off the streets and expect me to serve you high tea when you and your wife come home from the charity luncheon and then push me into a broom cupboard when she and the kiddies are out for a walk?”

“What makes you think that I have a wife and children?” asked Bond.

“Why wouldn’t I? Most of my customers do.”

“I don’t.”

“Oh.”

“So you see: no problem,” said Bond and he dipped down to kiss Q’s neck.

“And the neighbors?”

“I don’t have neighbors,” said Bond.

“I don’t understand,” said Q. “Everyone has neighbors.”

“I don’t,” said Bond. “At least, not ones I associate with. And they live a whole street over.”

“Other servants in the house? A maid? A butler?” asked Q. He sucked in a breath when Bond nibbled on his collarbone.

Bond huffed a laugh into his skin. “For a man who won’t tell me dick about himself, you are very curious about me.”

“You’re the one who’s talking about playing house,” said Q.

Bond lifted his head. “Does this mean you’re interested?”

“I- Well… I don’t know,” said Q. “I think this means that I’m weighing my options.”

“Hmm,” said Bond. His sarcastic tone was palpable as he said: “Gee, let me think: does the rent boy go and live with the obviously wealthy man who can give him the best of everything including the best sex of his young life, or does he just take the thousand pound payoff and go back to his dismal little flat and continue to perform back-alley blowjobs for fivers for the rest of his life? Quite the conundrum, Q; I can see why you’re struggling with it.”

Q laughed in spite of himself. Shaking his head at Bond he said: “Touché, James.” His face fell serious when he added: “But still: you are a stranger asking me to run away with you. I should by all rights be cautious.”

“Fair enough,” said Bond. “I’m in international shipping and business is good. I have my own space, but I’m away for the better part of the year on business so you’ll have the run of the place and very little to do. I’d take up a hobby if I were you. Stamp collecting or something.”

“Computers alright?” asked Q.

“Seriously?” asked Bond. “You mean programming and hacking and things? You know how to do that?”

“Well… I am more than just a pretty face with an arse that won’t quit.”

Bond smiled at him. “Right,” he said. “Computers it is then. Just something that’ll keep you close to home and out of trouble. So more programming and less hacking, please.” He leaned in for another slow kiss and was overjoyed to feel Q’s enthusiastic response in kind. “Well that was… different.”

“Yeah,” said Q. “I surprised myself with that too.”

“Well…” said Bond, “I should have mentioned computers earlier on in the evening.”

Q smiled that cockeyed grin and nodded at Bond. “Another please,” he said.

Strawberries and cream are never sweeter when sugar is added in; the sweet tenderness in their kiss rivaled all that had come before that night. This was more than sensuality. This was the flavor of the beginning of trust. Bond could feel Q squeeze his hands tightly against his. He wanted to swallow him whole.

“Let’s have a bit more fun, shall we?” growled Bond.

“Anything you want, James,” said Q. “Only: let me cum. Please.”

“Not yet,” he said. “I will… but not yet. Patience, love.” He reached up beyond the pillows and down the side of the mattress where he had tucked in the ends of the silk ties he had purchased. Their other ends were secured to the top of the bed frame and Bond pulled them taught, their length running under the pillow and down the head of the bed.

Q’s eyes went wide and he began breathing faster. “What’s your safeword, Q?”

“Bulldog,” he said.

“Good boy,” said Bond. He tied each of Q’s wrists up with a knot that left Q’s hands high above his head, but with enough slack that he could turn over if he needed to. Once done, Bond moved off the bed and stood by Q’s side. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” said Q. There was a small moment’s hesitation to his answer, but Bond believed him. He pulled open the bedside table drawer and removed some condoms, a bottle of lube, and another tie of black silk. The material was soft against Q’s face and he lifted his head to allow Bond to tie it around him until all the light was blocked.

“How’s that?”

“Alright,” said Q. He was nervous. Bond could hear it in his voice.

“Good. You’re doing very well, Q.” said Bond, “Now, I know it’s bad form, but I have something for you across the room. I’ll be right back.” He slid a hand down Q’s neck and chest, across his belly, down his hip and leg, and allowed his fingertips to drag along Q’s toes before parting from him entirely. It was the first time in more than an hour that they had not been in physical contact and Bond felt the absence like a punch to the gut. Q squirmed and tried to calm his breathing. “I’m right here, Q. You’re safe.”

Bond picked up the ice caddy and made his way back to the bed, gliding a warm hand along Q’s body until it rested against his neck once more. ‘Shh… calm now. I’m right here.” Q moved into his touch and Bond brought his hand up to Q’s face.

“James,” Q sighed. Bond pulled an ice cube from the container and placed the tip of it against Q’s lips. Q gave a sharp intake of breath and licked at the ice. “Oh fuck yes,” he said. Bond let the cube slide along his alabaster flesh, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in its wake, making Q’s nipples stand erect and ready even before he had gotten to them to circle the ice around and around and around one, loop down to the dip in his thorax where his breastbone ended and his soft underbelly began, only to arrive at the other nipple and give it its own go-around. A small thin trail of water was left behind. Bond admired how the sheen of it stood out against his skin. As he worked the cube around the areola, Bond licked at his other nipple, taking the nubbin into his mouth and working it with his tongue. The combination of cold and heat made Q squirm and moan and his cock began to refill. “Fuck, James!” cried Q.

Bond hummed against his mouthful and heard Q laugh. “God damn,” Q said. “This is torture. This whole night has been fucking torture.”

“Would you have wanted it any other way?” asked Bond.

“Not on your life,” he breathed. Bond smirked at him. “Fuck me, James. Properly fuck me. Please.”

“Shh…” said Bond. “All in good time.” He dragged the cube down into the black thatch above Q’s erection.

“Ah!” said Q. His hips began to undulate. The cube traveled across his hip and down one thigh, looping under it from the outside as Q bent his knee to oblige its path. There wasn’t much of it left now and Bond held its remains to Q’s scrotum with a warm hand, massaging the tender sack and kissing his neck. Q’s subsequent moan was lascivious.

Fully melted, Bond reached for another cube and started at Q’s feet. He jerked them away as soon as Bond touched them to the ice, laughing. “No! Don’t!” he giggled.

Bond gripped his ankle firmly and traced the cube from ball to his heel, dipping into his arch, Q wiggling and laughing the entire time. “Stay still, you naughty boy,” said Bond.

“C-can’t… too much!” he gasped.

Bond ran the cube over the tips of each of his toes, delighting in Q’s struggling and hilarity. He switched to the other foot and did the same, caressing the cube along the sole of his foot, the tips of each toe, finally pressing the melting ice against his arch and sliding it, cupped in his palm, along the inside of his ankle and all the way up the inside of his leg, past his knee and along his thigh. Bond crawled up the bed between Q’s legs and as he pressed the cube to Q’s scrotum once again, he leaned over the boy to kiss him thoroughly.

Q moaned into his mouth, spread his knees wide, and curled his toes. Bond brought the remains of the cube to Q’s mouth and let him suck on it as he held it between his fingertips. “Good boy,” he murmured. “Excellent boy. Now let’s see if you can take it against your prick.”

‘Oh God,” sighed Q. He circled his pink tongue around the ice and sucked it into his mouth. He smiled like the cat that ate the cream. “Can’t use it now.” He crunched it into fragments between his teeth.

“Oh there’s plenty more where that came from,” said Bond.

Oh, shit,” said Q.

Bond chuckled low and reached for another cube. Using one of its pointed corners, he barely touched it to the base of Q’s erect cock. Q’s breath stuttered and his body went rigid. “Now let’s see how still you can be,” said Bond. “Any twitching and I promise they’ll be a punishment to follow. Do you understand?”

“Oh, James… yes. Yes, I understand,” said Q, his breathing shallow and quick.

“What’s your safeword?”

“Bulldo-o-o“ stuttered Q. He was cut off mid-safeword by the burning cold trail travelling up the underside of his dick. Bond could see him straining to keep still: muscles in his arms and neck straining, chest heaving. When he reached his frenulum he cried out and his back arched violently. Bond put his mouth against the frenulum, warming the tissue with a lingering kiss.

Q fell back against the mattress; he was a panting mess. “Shit… Shit, James,” he said.

Bond threw the ice cube across the room, pulled Q’s knees to his chest, and moved them to one side. “Turn over,” he said.

Q did as he was told, resting on his elbows and knees with his arse in the air. Bond bit at his arse and licked his hole. Q gasped. The agent left the bed, grabbed another cube, took off Q’s blindfold, and showed him the ice. “Punishment,” he said.

Q’s head sank to the mattress as Bond took up position behind him once more. He rubbed the ice over both cheeks and then placed the cube in his mouth. Clenching it between his teeth he parted Q’s cheeks and pressed the end of the cube over Q’s pucker. Q cried out once more as Bond spread the trail of cold burning wet all over his arsehole and crack. Water dripped from Bond’s lips and trickled down Q’s crack to his scrotum as he worked the ice against that sensitive flesh. When the ice was gone, Bond licked appreciatively into Q’s hole, gripping his arse tight, fingertips no doubt bruising his skin.

“Oh fuck yes, James,” said Q. “More, please.”

Bond grabbed the lube bottle. He lay on his back behind Q and stuck his head between Q’s legs. “Fuck my mouth, Q,” said Bond and put the tip of Q’s cock in his mouth.

“God damn it, yes!” cried Q as he slid himself inside Bond’s hot wet gob, thrusting slowly and carefully.

Bond swallowed against him, taking in as much as he could and prepped his hand to gently massage its way into Q’s arsehole. “Hunnnn… God, James!” said Q, clearly overcome. His pace quickened and Bond matched his anal fingering with Q’s face-fuck.

Q's cock was delicious. Bond relished the taste and the feel of it, memorizing how every dip and curve slid past his lips. He dragged the tip of his tongue against Q’s cock, moving it this way and that, making it hard and pointed, now flat and wide. The variety was making Q dizzy and his thrust became even more frenzied. “Yes, James,” he said. “Just like that. Fuck! I’m getting there… shit!”

Bond judged the point at which Q had attained that glorious euphoria. When he felt it happen to him, he pulled his mouth gently away and firmly grabbed the base of his member, staving off yet another orgasm.

“Oh God NO!” cried Q, riding what was left of the wave. “Why? Oh fuck why?” It faded completely and he began to sob again.

Bond moved to his knees behind Q and pressed his hardness into Q’s crack. Leaning over him he grabbed him by the neck and growled: "I told you, you filthy boy: punishment.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Now over on your back,” commanded Bond. “I’m not done with you yet.”

“Oh God,” sighed Q and he turned over carefully, his cock throbbing and painful. Bond was off the bed again and opening a condom. “Yes,” said Q. “Oh yes, James. Please punish me with your cock. Please.”

“Hardly,” said Bond dryly and dropped an ice cube into the condom he had unrolled, his eyes never leaving Q’s.

Jade green eyes went wide when he realized what Bond had meant to do. “You can’t be serious,” he said.

“Shh…” said Bond. He pushed Q’s legs up, putting his knees to his shoulders. “What’s your safeword?”

“Bulldog,” said Q and he watched the condom disappear beyond his cock and pelvis. He cried out when he felt the cold against his hole and Bond held him down, placing a powerful forearm across the back of his thighs. Holding onto the open end of the condom, he circled Q’s hole once more before pressing the cold cube into him. It was a slow, agonizing process and Bond watched Q carefully as he slowly came undone underneath his hands. He saw Q’s hole open before him as the boy relaxed. He was overwhelmed by the sight before him: Q bound and helpless, arms above his head, eyes shut, breath controlled but barely, hair a halo of black against the pillow, knees up, thighs akimbo, hole open and swallowing against the ice cold cube Bond was nudging inside of him with a forefinger until it was completely gone and Bond was two knuckles deep inside him.

“Son of a _bitch_!” cried Q as the ice had made contact with his prostate. His following shouts were nearly screams and Bond worried that he might have to safeword, but nothing resembling “bulldog” came from the boy’s perfect mouth as his body rose and fell with the pressure and twitched with the cold of the rapidly melting cube inside of him.

“Fucking gorgeous,” muttered Bond as Q came apart.

“P-please,” whined Q, his eyes shut tight against the burning cold trapped against his gland.

Bond left the cube inside him and leaned down to lick a wide stripe along the underside of Q’s dick. “GOD!” cried Q. Bond didn’t have to swallow Q’s cock for long before he was warning Bond that he was “close… so fucking close. Please, James.” And Bond let him.

Q’s orgasm and resulting ejaculation hit him like a two-tonne lorry. Back arched, James’ name on his lips, he shuddered with the last of it, his body giving out leaving him a damp ragdoll, head lolling to the side in his relief. He was a shell of his former self and it was glorious.

Bond nearly came from the sight. As it was, it was all he could do to not swallow Q’s cum. He held his mouthful and rolled on a condom of his own. Slicking himself up, he gave another squirt of lube to Q’s hole, removed the condom that now contained cold water, tossing it into the garbage, and lined himself up.

He pressed in slowly, savoring the feel of Q’s dual sphincter muscles allowing him passage with two small flips past his oversensitive head and the resulting heat that seemed to swallow the whole of him. He moaned low and kissed Q’s cum into his mouth, watching as Q’s eyes flew open at the taste. Both men swallowed and messily licked each other’s mouth and lips, savoring the taste and connection they had finally achieved as Bond rocked himself inside Q.

“Oh Q, “ sighed Bond. “So fucking good.”

“Finally,” said Q, smiling up at him. “This has been amazing, James.” He kissed him again, sliding his tongue against Bond’s in tandem with Bond’s rhythm. Bond followed his lead for a bit, both of them symbiotic and conjoined.

Bond reached up and freed Q’s hands. Immediately he felt their presence on his back and along his arms. “How are you real?” Bond whispered.

“I was just going to ask the same of you,” replied Q. His smile was almost shy.

Bond kissed his neck as his rhythm continued. “I could fuck you forever,” he said.

“I hope you do,” said Q, his hands finding a home in Bond’s hair. His mouth found Bond’s and their kiss was chaste but long, sweet, meaningful. It was not the kiss of a hooker to his john. It was a lover’s kiss filled with promise and a future.

“Are you sure you really want me?” asked Q.

“Never more sure of anything in my life,” said Bond.

“Forever?”

“For as long as you’ll have me.”

“I should warn you: I may never let you go.”

Bond chuckled. “Good.” He increased his pace and watched the sensation of it play over Q’s face. He tilted his head back and Bond kissed his Adam’s apple. “You are just tremendously gorgeous, Q. Fucking indescribable.”

Q held his face in both of his hands and looked down the length of their chests. He could see the root of Bond’s cock pumping away and with an awestruck look in his eye replied: “And what about you? You’re a fucking Greek god. And – oh God – you feel so damn good… so _right_ inside me.”

Bond pressed their foreheads together and stared into Q’s eyes.

“Cum for me,” said Q. “Hard. Like you’ve wanted to all along. Like you wanted to feed me your cum ever since the risotto. Ever since the bath. Ever since the shower.”

“Ever since the fucking alley where we met,” panted Bond. “I wanted to press you up against the wall even then only I thought it was just plain aggression. Turns out it was this. Just as primal, but worlds different.”

“Then cum for me like that,” said Q. “The mattress is the brick wall. You’ve pinned me against it. You’re pressing and thrashing inside me. Cum for me, hard man. Cum for me like you’re paying for it.”

Bond pressed his left wrist weakly against Q’s throat up under his chin for effect. “That’s it, you fucking animal,” egged on Q. “Fuck me. Take what you want. Just fucking _take_.”

Bond wrapped Q’s left leg over his shoulder and propping himself up with his free hand, changed his angle and snapped his hips into him, over and over, mercilessly thrusting and feeling the rise inside of him sweeping up from his groin and gathering in the very center of him, ready to burst out in a white hot light. He was tipping over the edge when Q gave him the final push: “Show the world who owns me.”

Stars burst from behind his eyelids as he came hot and thick inside of Q. Rolling waves of euphoria wracked his body as his thrust stuttered, stuttered, and then froze, leaving him a heaving, collapsed mess draped over his young lover.

“Holy shit. That was amazing,” said Q.

Bond remained inside Q for a few more moments before pulling out and collapsing against the mattress on the other side. Even though his eyes were closed, he could feel Q regarding him. “Go on. Ask.”

“You’re in international shipping, eh?”

“Mmm,” replied Bond.

“I don’t suppose you could get me a few terabytes of RAM in your travels?”

“Would that turn you on?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” answered Q. “And besides, if you’re not paying me anymore, you need to start keeping me in the lifestyle you promised me.” He turned over on his side, propping his head up with his hand and pouted magnificently.

“You fucking brat,” said Bond.

The sly cocky grin made a sudden reappearance on Q’s face. “Would you have me any other way?”

“Not on your life,” replied Bond with a warm kiss.

 

~080~

 

It was early the next morning when there was a knock at the door. Bond stumbled to the bath to locate a robe. Upon his return through the bedroom he smiled as Q threw a second pillow over his head to ward off the knocking that had persisted. Room service at this place was decidedly aggressive…

He hadn’t ordered breakfast.

Quickly, Bond moved to the living room and pulled his weapon from its hiding place between the cushions of the sofa. “One moment,” he called. He had no silencer. If he fired his weapon he would have to muffle the shot with one of the sofa cushions. He also didn’t want to risk Q waking and stumbling upon a problematic situation. If he wasn’t careful, Q could become a hostage in seconds.

The way the doors were in this space, any aggressor could push in and have access to the dining, bath, and bedrooms through the doorway to the right while the remainder of the living room (where Bond needed for them to be) was off to the left of the main door. Perhaps getting them out to the terrace would be wiser?

He placed the weapon in his robe pocket and peeped out to see who it was. The man on the other side was neither an employee of the hotel nor an MI-6 friendly. He was more than six foot, however, and built. Bond looked back toward the open doorway and listened for Q. Nothing stirred so he took a chance.

He threw the hinged security lock and opened the door as far as the metal would allow. “We didn’t order breakfast,” he said.

“Good,” said the man, “because I didn’t bring any. Where’s Q?”

Bond was confused. “Who are you?”

“Let him in,” said Q from behind Bond.

“You have a pimp?” asked Bond.

“No,” said the man, “he has a bookie.”

Bond turned to face Q. “I see,” he said softly, anger bubbling just below the surface. He opened the door properly for the man. Gambling debts. Bond had known in his heart of hearts that falling for this boy would not be a good thing, but he just couldn’t help himself, could he?

The man walked past Bond unceremoniously. “Well?” he asked.

“Ned, what are you doing here? I told you the money would be yours today, but I didn’t mean by six on the nose-“ said Q.

“How much?” asked Bond, cutting him off.

“Nineteen,” said Ned.

“Nineteen thousand?” asked Bond.

Ned gave a mirthless chuckle. “Like hell,” he said. “Even computer boy here isn’t that good. Nineteen hundred.”

“I’ve got it,” said Bond. “If you’ll follow me to my bank, I’ll withdraw the funds today.”

“What the fuck would I want with your money?” asked Ned. “Not that I’m turning you down if you want to be generous, mind. It’s just that I want the kid to give me my money. The money his computer calculations won me out in Vegas.”

“What?” asked Bond. He looked to Q, totally lost.

Q gave a small smile. “I developed a program that would calculate the odds of outcomes of certain types of sport. It’s all algorithms based on geometry and physics, really. But-“

“Enough,” said Ned. “My money, genius boy.”

“Isn’t that illegal?” asked Bond.

“Well… technically…” evaded Q. Bond frowned disapprovingly. “But they usually don’t look very closely at betting of the smaller, more seasonal sports. Las Vegas is the betting mecca, but even they have things that fall through the cracks, things they don’t routinely check for cheats every single day. And if you’re prudent and careful…” He shrugged.

“For example…?” urged Bond.

“For example,” said Q, “what Ned here won at just last night: curling.”

“Curling?” asked Bond. “You made nineteen hundred pounds last night by betting on… curling?”

Ned nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah. And it’s the off-season too. They hike up the security around Olympic sport betting only when the Olympics are on. And the Olympics aren’t on for another four years for the winter games.” He nodded toward Q. “He’s pretty good, this kid. You a betting man?”

“I have been known to do so from time to time,” said Bond, eyeing Q appreciatively.

“Yeah well,” he said, “if ever he gives you odds on something, believe him. He’s a good one. Now… about my money.”

Q sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll need to get back to my computer, but I can have the money sent to your account by encryption file. It’ll take a few minutes, but you’ll have it before the end of the day. Will that do?”

“Yeah,” said Ned. He handed Q a slip of paper. “Send it to that one.” He turned to go and gave Bond a last look. He said to Q: “This one’s a looker. I hope he’s done right by you.”

Q grinned at Bond. “There’s a few details to iron out, a lot of things to discuss - _volumes_ of things, actually - but I should be moving out of your flat soon enough.”

“Right,” said Ned, impressed. “I’ll be sad to see you go. You’re the best tenant I’ve had so far. Still… you could do worse. Ta.”

Bond stared at the door for a moment longer than was strictly necessary. When he spoke it was slowly and carefully. “You live in a flat owned by a bookie named Ned for whom you have done a favor involving illegal gambling practices via a computer program you have developed and written yourself? Do I have all that right?”

“Mostly,” said Q. Bond raised an eyebrow. “I _used_ to live in a flat owned by a bookie named Ned. Now I live in an entire city block with a very wealthy man who’s in international shipping and who, for whatever reason, is currently massaging the handle of a weapon in his robe pocket.”

Bond looked down at his hand and brought out the Walther. He looked at Q.

“Yes…” said Q, eyeing the weapon nervously. “We really do have volumes of things to discuss, don’t we James?… James? James what, exactly?”

“Bond,” he replied. “James Bond.” He shook his head. “And I thought my life was hard to swallow.”

Q smirked. “I can’t wait for you to tell me all about it, Mr. Bond.” He wrapped his arms about Bond’s neck and kissed him fervently. “Only let’s start with that weapon in your hand. You’re not actually in international shipping, are you?”

Bond sighed. Q was a brave man. There was no getting out of this one. Alec was never going to let him live it down. And M was going to kill him.


End file.
